


Out of Hand

by Vector



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Cybernetics, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vector/pseuds/Vector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys might idolize Jack, but that doesn't mean he trusts him. Still, it seems safest to stay on his good side. Even if Jack starts taking a <i>few</i> liberties with his cybernetics, it's okay if that's as far as it goes, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Hand

Rhys realizes Jack's doing something when he starts to feel his dick getting hard in his pants. He's half-asleep in the Pandoran desert, exhausted, covered in grime, and surrounded by grifters, Vault Hunters and robots. His best friend is paralyzed and he's beginning to get worried about it not wearing off. It's not the sort of situation that would normally be thought of as _arousing_ , in general or especially by him, so at first he's just groggy and confused at his slacks suddenly feeling tighter. 

After a moment, though, he notes that he isn't exactly feeling aroused, either. His dick is hardening like it has a mind of its own. Then, a moment later, he realizes the other possibility. That there's a _different_ mind at work. 

He stands up abruptly, getting a look from Athena, who's on watch, because of course Athena is on watch. She probably thinks he's crazy at this point. She certainly seems unimpressed as he makes some embarrassing hand gestures and hurries out of the circle of the firelight, out of sight around the other side of the caravan. 

And hopefully out of earshot, at least enough to hiss under his breath. "Jack!"

There's laughter in his ears before Jack appears, hovering next to him. "What is it, princess?" 

"You. You're. You're messing with me, my." He gestures to the bulge at the front of his pants helplessly.

Jack leans on something invisible casually. "Huh, that's a pretty sudden accusation. Are you sure it's not just malfunctioning? Robot dicks have a lot of moving parts, I hear." 

Rhys believes that's possible for only a fraction of a second before he feels his dick shift again, metal joints sliding erect. " _Jack._ " 

Jack laughs again. "Nah, you're right, that's totally me."

Rhys runs his hand over his face and through his hair. Jack had been much more friendly since he'd agreed to work with him on the top of the caravan. Which, admittedly, had been Rhys' goal in agreeing to it. This is a little beyond friendly, though.

"Why," Rhys manages, through his teeth.

"Just seeing what I can do, pumpkin. Just relax. Look, I'm doing you a favor, I even waited until everyone was asleep. Which, let me tell you, was kind of an ordeal? This is pretty much the most boring road trip I've ever been on, and I'm not even technically on it."

Rhys opens his mouth to argue and then is distracted by the hand that was in his hair moving to the front of his pants. The cybernetic one, of course. It presses firmly at the front of his pants, and _that_ contact sends a bolt of pleasure through him. He catches the metal wrist with his other hand, but he can't pull it away. He stumbles until his back hits the caravan. "Jack!"

"That's my name." Jack says, and Rhys watches as Jack's hand mirrors the motion of his, groping the air in front of him as Rhys' metal fingers wander over his belt buckle. "Come on, I bet you've done this before."

That distracts Rhys from trying to wrench back control. "What this, which this, what have I done before?"

"Jerked off while thinking of me." Jack grins widely, and Rhys's belt comes undone as he completely loses whatever focus he'd managed to gather, making an indignant noise that he swallows halfway through. He doesn't want anyone to hear and come check on him. "Oh man, you _totally_ have."

"No!" Rhys says, but it comes out as a squeak as he remembers something with sudden force. Suddenly Jack is right in front of him, so quick Rhys isn't sure he actually moved through the intervening space, meeting his eyes from a few inches away.

"Don't lie to me." His voice is low, warning, and Rhys' stomach drops at the same time his dick aches. He doesn't think Jack's actually doing that part. Well, he's definitely _causing_ it. Just maybe not by directly controlling his cybernetics.

"W-What, can you read my mind now?" Rhys stutters, trying to keep it sarcastic and not wonder if it could possibly be true.

"Mm, not really," Jack says, still in his face, lips quirking in a smirk. "But if you're, like, visualizing? I can catch bits of it. That ECHOeye interface, it's a real genius piece of work, huh? Effortless integration with many important neurological functions."

Rhys notes, unhelpfully to his current situation, that Jack is inconsistent about exactly how aware he is of what he is and what he can do. Which means he's probably very aware and just keeping it to himself because he has something in mind. He has to have something in mind, he's Jack. He'd had a plan in mind back in Old Haven, even if Rhys had declined it. He's still not really any more inclined to trust Jack than he was then, but it is good for Jack to believe they're on the same side. He's got to be careful here. Keep a balance. This could go very badly otherwise.

"Uh," is all Rhys manages to say.

Jack snorts and pulls back a bit, glancing back down at Rhys's crotch and shifting his hand again. His metal fingers slowly start working the zipper down, which Rhys is honestly a little impressed by. That hand doesn't have a lot of dexterity.

"Tell you what, kiddo," Jack says, voice bright, though the tone of threat isn't quite gone. "If you tell me all about it, I'll give you control back."

Rhys flushes hot with embarrassment, and what is probably actual arousal now, and more embarrassment at that. "W-What, you mean. It's not like I—I don't know what you're imagining, it's not like I. Fantasized about you all the time, it wasn't that kind of— _oh god_." Jack has worked his pants entirely open, and with a smirk and a gesture he slides Rhys' metal fingers around the synthetic shaft of his dick. The metal slides fairly easy over the soft outer material. "You—you can't _feel_ that, right? Why—"

"No, I can't feel it." Jack's voice has a strange tone at that. "But _you_ can feel it, which is almost as good."

 _Is it?!_ Rhys thinks, but doesn't say, too choked by the sensation of his fingers slowly caressing his hard dick. He does not, in fact, usually use that hand when he jerks off. It's almost too sensitive. And, of course, it's strange to feel moving without his input to begin with. But it does feel good, too. Really good. There's no way he's going to be able to wrestle back control like this.

"Come on, then, tell me a story," Jack says, settling in next to him as his holographic hand makes slow stroking motions in the air.

Talking about it seems crazy, but everything about this is crazy. Some kind of AI of Handsome Jack is slowly jerking him off with his own hand with a grin, and his head is hazed with exhaustion and bizarre arousal. So he finds himself speaking before he's really aware of deciding to do so. "L-Like I said, it wasn't... a thing. It just, you know how when you're working too hard and you watch some porn and your head starts to wander weird places?"

Jack's eyebrows raise. "Uh-huh, sure. So what 'weird places'—" he runs a finger firmly over the head of Rhys' dick, and Rhys' breath catches, his flesh fingers tightening uselessly around his metal wrist— "did your head wander to?"

"Nng." Rhys grunts. "It, just, well. It was really bad porn, something about a hot secretary who sucks off all her bosses to get to the top, only, Vaughn had mentioned something about how good I was at sucking up that day..."

Jack laughs again. "Oooh, so you started wondering if you could suck dick to get to the top too?"

" _No_ ," Rhys says emphatically, and this time it's not a protest. "I mean, my boss was Henderson, I'm not sucking _him_ off—"

"Ugh, no." Jack interjects, and Rhys moves on from that thought quickly.

"—and, not just that, that is, that's not a thing I do in _general_ , okay, for the record. But I just thought for a moment, what if..."

"What if it was _your hero_ who wanted it?" Jack almost purrs into his ear, and Rhys shudders. "Yeah, that's it, huh? You wondered, if you met Handsome Jack in the flesh and he told you to suck his dick, would you say no?"

Rhys is suddenly even more aware of the hand slowly stroking him. This isn't meeting Jack in the flesh. But. He's not saying no. His heart thuds. "S...Something like that. Yeah." 

The grip on his dick tightens. "And did you wonder that while you were jerking off?"

It's a good thing he's leaning against the caravan, because otherwise Rhys isn't sure his legs would support him. He should barely be getting started, but he already feels out of control. Well, he is out of control, in a literal sense. He wonders if Jack will really give him his arm back, or if he's planning on taking this all the way. Some part of him suddenly hopes for the latter.

"Yes," Rhys answers eventually. "But I wasn't jerking off _over_ it, I was already. I was already doing it when the thought... occurred to me."

"Uh-huh," Jack says, with a long pull at his dick. Rhys drops his left hand away from his wrist, finally, giving up any pretense he's trying to stop this that way. "But it made it better, I'm sure. Yeah, you seem like the sort of guy who'd deny it in public but end up panting for it the moment you have a chance."

Rhys is suddenly very aware of how heavy his breath is coming, and he holds it for a moment. 

Jack just snorts and continues. "So? What did you decide? Would you do it? I mean, you _obviously_ would, but did you admit that to yourself?"

"I," Rhys says, on a harsh exhale, and then suddenly has trouble summoning the air to say anything else. "I-It's not like I could say no, if. If you..." He trails off.

"Right. That's what you went with, huh? Gotta suck my dick because otherwise I might toss you out an airlock?" Jack laughs again, loud, and he reminds himself he's the only one who can hear it. Jack's blue hand making obscene gestures in the air is almost funny, if he looks at it objectively. Jack can't actually do anything but this. Rhys really wishes he would do it faster. "I'm kind of insulted."

"W, Why," Rhys whines, distracted.

"I don't need to _threaten_ people into sucking my dick, cupcake. There are plenty of people who'd be happy to do it. That includes you. Though I do understand if the threat of imminent death makes it more exciting." There's a trace of that dangerous tone back in Jack's voice. 

"Fine," Rhys breathes, not sure what part of that he's agreeing to. "Can I have my arm back now? Or, will you just..."

"Nah ah ah," Jack shakes his unoccupied finger at him. "Come on now, you barely answered my questions."

"What more do you want? It's not like I can suck your cock _now_ ," Rhys snaps, and the hand stroking him falters as Jack's face turns colder for a moment. Rhys feels a matching swell of heat in his groin, and tries not to think too hard about that.

"You're right, sweetheart, you can't." Jack's cheerful tone sounds forced. " _You_ can definitely get off like this, though, and right now your dick is as much mine as your arm, alright?"

"Oh is _that_ what's happening?" Rhys' voice breaks on the attempt to sound affronted in a low whisper. "Because, it still kind of feels like it's mine."

Jack gives him a strange smile and gives his dick a firm, long stroke. "Then why don't you tell me _exactly_ how much you want me to get you off right now?"

This is ridiculous. But there's no harm done by playing along with this. Not that Rhys is entirely sure that's what he doing. He groans and arches a little into Jack's—his hand. "A lot," he says, before he can reconsider it. Admitting that breaks some kind of wall, and he leans more heavily against the caravan wall. "It, god, that feels so good, please just do it _faster_." He sounds desperate even to his own ears.

"Good," Jack says, and picks up the pace of his strokes slightly. Still not _enough_ , but enough that Rhys makes a whimpering noise before he can stop himself and then lifts his free hand to his mouth to muffle the sound. "Nice," Jack says at that. "You look real good like that. Hey, I know, why don't you stick your fingers down your throat and pretend that it's my dick? Did you do that when you were thinking about it before?"

Rhys doesn't answer that, squeezing his eyes shut as instead he complies, sliding two of his flesh fingers into his mouth and sucking on them. It keeps him quiet, anyway. With his eyes closed, though, he can't see Jack, and he gets a moment of perspective on what he's doing—to anyone else, he's alone here behind the caravan, slumped against it as he sucks his fingers and frantically jerks himself off while he tries not to wake anyone on the other side. His eyes snap open again to see Jack's intensely smug expression, and he swallows hard.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Jack's voice sounds equally smug. "You'd _beg_ for the chance to suck my dick. None of this 'if you told me to I couldn't refuse' stuff. If I held, like, a contest or something? Winner gets an hour in Handsome Jack's office with Handsome Jack's dick in their mouth? I bet you'd throw a few people out airlocks yourself to make sure you came out on top." Rhys is glad for the excuse of the fingers in his mouth to avoid having to respond to that. "Not that I'd ever do that, fun as it sounds to have everyone fighting over it. Not really into getting my dick sucked by random weirdly obsessive corporate peons. But you know, hypothetically. You can go ahead and imagine that."

Rhys wants to complain, wants to point out that Jack seems pretty into _this_ , even if he can only demonstrate it by the curve of his holographic lips as he pretends to lean against the caravan next to him, but he doesn't think he could form the words even if he tried. It's hard enough to wrap his head around the idea. And he is also caught up with imagining what Jack described. What if he beat out everyone else in Hyperion? What if the fingers in his mouth _were_ something else, bigger, hotter, filling his mouth with warm flesh and his nose with heady musk, the shaft pressing down his throat as Jack's moans of pleasure echoed against the walls of Helios? He pushes his fingers down against his tongue and shudders, rocking his hips up into his hand again.

"Wow," Jack drawls, and Rhys' whole body heats. "Yeah, see. I'm really doing you a favor, giving you a quick handjob when you want me so bad."

So many things about that deserve a response, the top of the list being that he didn't ask for this, and that it certainly isn't _quick_ , and if it takes much longer he's in real danger of someone coming to make sure he isn't dead. But saying any of that seems like asking Jack to stop, which he doesn't actually want to do. He wants him to keep doing what he's doing, and not just so he can finish before anyone catches him like this.

"'ack," He moans, instead, around his fingers.

"Yeah," Jack says, approving now, and his tone makes Rhys shudder by itself. "Just like that, sweetheart. You've certainly got your looks over a lot of corporate peons, at least. Let's see what you look like when you come gasping my name."

Finally, finally, Jack starts moving his hand like he means it, and it's abruptly overwhelming. Rhys almost breaks the skin on his fingers as he bites down to smother a yelp. Jack laughs again, but it feels warmer this time, richer, and Rhys can't tell if that's just because he can barely process it through the haze of urgent pleasure that's rushing through him. He supposes it's also possible that something Jack's doing is actually hitting his brain directly, with more than just the sound. He can't think hard enough to figure it out or worry too hard, not with the feeling of his metal hand pulling firmly at his shaft. This grip is tighter than he could manage with his flesh hand, probably much tighter than would be comfortable if he had a flesh dick, but the materials he has are resilient enough that it's not a problem, it just compresses the soft outer layer and keeps constant intense stimulation to the electric nerves. Well, that still might be a problem eventually, and it's certainly not something he would or could do to himself, the sensation so much all his limbs but the metal one go slack—but as he is now it feels amazing, and it won't be long before—

It's not long at all before he's coming, at last, fluid from his prosthetic's reservoirs pumping up through the shaft to spill over his hand and across the sand. His knees finally give out and he slumps to the ground, his free hand dropping from his mouth to catch himself, and without thinking he does gasp out, " _Jack_."

"Fully-functional, huh," Jack says, and it sounds half like a tease and half like something else. His metal hand releases his dick as it enters its automatic cooldown, softening and collapsing. Then, for some reason, his metal palm drags up over his chest, caressing over his body to his neck and up. It feels exploratory rather than deliberate. It's strangely intimate, and for a moment he meets Jack's eyes as he cups his face without him saying anything.

"Hey, Hyperion kid, you alive? What are you doing over there?" It's Athena's voice.

Rhys jumps and knocks his head against the edge of the caravan. "Ow!" 

Jack vanishes abruptly. Rhys realizes he can move his hand again, and quickly uses it to tuck himself in and re-fasten his pants, stumbling to his feet as Athena rounds into view. "Fine! Fine, yes, sorry, I was just. Finishing up. Sorry. I'm coming back now." He heads over towards Athena before she can come any closer and get any guesses about what he was doing from the damp marks in the sand. She just gives him another judgmental look and accompanies him back to their camp.

Rhys' heart is still beating quickly as he settles back in with everyone. He's pretty sure it's not just from the recent orgasm. Some part of the thrill is just from having gotten away with it without anyone noticing. Gotten away with... something. He isn't sure what that was, and thinking about it doesn't help, though it does send thrills through him to even consider. 

He's fine for now. Better than fine. He wanted to be on good terms with Jack. That... is probably what's happening. If it turns out to not be, he can deal with it then. For now, exhaustion quickly sets in hard enough to quiet the questions screaming through his mind.


End file.
